


Everything in its Right Place

by Lila82



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 09:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14734740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila82/pseuds/Lila82
Summary: After the battle on Io, Holden gets the glory but Amos inherits the kids.  It changes him for the better.





	Everything in its Right Place

Amos gets it.

The world almost ended and no one wants to be alone. 

Bobbie needs medical treatment and who better to help her than one of her own? 

Prax tore the universe apart to get his daughter back. He deserves to tuck her into bed and hold her close. 

Holden and Naomi share something, something fragile but strong. Something bigger than either of them. Amos doesn’t understand it but he respects it. He lets them be.

Avasarala is small and frail, but he wouldn’t want to be alone with her. If there was ever a time to pity Jules-Pierre Mao, now would be it.

And then there are the kids. The _other_ kids. The ones without a father to chase them across galaxies. Three kids, two girls and a boy, and someone needs to look out for them. 

Even if that someone is him.

 

* * *

 

Naomi watches Holden. 

Her eyes are hooded and dark, tracking his every movement as he shoves Jules-Pierre Mao onto the Roci.

Amos doesn’t like it. The Roci is more than a legit salvage. The people that live within its skin, they don’t avert their eyes when he walks past. They look at him. They might not like what they see, but they don’t look away. It’s the closest he’s felt to home. 

He doesn’t like Jules-Pierre Mao walking the Roci’s decks. He doesn’t like that the man gets to live when children had to die, but he’s not the one in charge.

Holden – this Holden – the one he first met and mostly tolerated on the Cant isn’t that guy. He doesn’t put a bullet between Mao’s eyes. He leaves him with Avasarala and whatever justice she chooses to dispense. 

Amos knows it won’t end in gunfire either. Avasarala won’t get her hands dirty, but she’ll break Mao all the same. He knows what she’d say if he tried to argue otherwise. He doesn’t think Mao would get off too easy if they opened an airlock and sent him into the depths of space. For Amos, justice is simple. Some people – they don’t deserve to live. 

But he pledged his loyalty to Holden and that means following through. Mao isn’t his call. It’s why he isn’t in charge.

Naomi seems to agree. She has a look on her face that Amos doesn’t recognize. It’s hunger, but not the kind of hunger he knows. She isn’t a grown man and Holden isn’t a five-year-old boy. She wants something from Holden, but not something she has to hide. She doesn’t have to pay either. She can put it out there, in the open, where everyone can see. Amos doesn’t know that look but he wants to. She looks happy, at ease. He still doesn’t trust her, but that joy – he can envy it even if he doesn’t understand it.

Amos watches them walk away, not touching, but connected. They drift towards each other as they head towards the cabins, circling closer, Coriolis be damned. He’s seen stars go nova – when they finally collide, he’s glad it will be behind closed doors. 

A small hand slips into his own, small and delicate. Fragile. If he squeezes too hard, he could shatter it into pieces too small to put back together. Like the tools Prax forgot to secure. He sees the fragments floating through negative space, smooth and pale, the things he could do to a person if given the chance.

The hand pulls a little. “Amos? I’m hungry.”

He shakes his head to get it on straight and turns his attention to the small child tugging on his hand. Miranda, he thinks her name is, the smallest of the three. She looks even smaller standing beside him, pale and gray with exhaustion. The others sway on their feet, their expressions dull and glassy. The boy has tear tracks on his cheeks.

Alex has a son. He would know what to say. But Alex isn’t here and Amos is. He wishes he had the right words. He wants the kids to stop looking so scared. He can’t do either of those things, so he focuses on what he can. 

“Come on,” he says, hoists one child to his hip and takes the other’s hand. “Let’s get some food.”

 

* * *

 

Their options are limited and Amos has never been very good in the kitchen, but he knows how to make porridge and they have the supplies. He settles the kids around the table and puts a bowl in the microwave. A low hum fills empty space while the food cooks.

“Is Dr. Strickland dead?”

Amos has his back to the kids but he thinks it’s Ariel, the older of the two girls. When the dust had settled on Io, she'd been the first to follow him out of the airlock. 

Alex would have lied, likely Holden and Naomi too. Ariel can't be more than ten. Sitting at the cracked table, her feet don't touch the floor. They would have seen a little girl with a gap-toothed smile and wanted to make it better. They would have told her it would be okay and she might have believed them.

Amos knows better. Ariel's eyes are hard. He's seen that look before, especially on faces as young as hers. It's not okay and he won't tell her that it is. A man tried to turn her into a monster. She deserves to know that he’ll never be able to do it again.

“Yes.” The microwave beeps, but there’s nothing left to say. Whatever he feels about Strickland’s death is his business. Ariel should make up her own mind.

She nods once and turns back to her companions. “Good.” 

Ferdinand’s chin wobbles. “Is my mommy dead too?”

Amos transfers the porridge to a thermos and stacks serving bowls on his arm. He evenly meets Ferdinand’s gaze as he doles out dinner. “I don’t know.”

For a moment Amos thinks the kid might cry, but he bites down on his lip and throws his shoulders back. He holds himself proud and straight, like a good soldier, and copies Ariel’s nod. “Okay.”

Amos isn’t sure that it is, but he doesn’t push either. Ferdinand will talk when he’s ready and Amos will listen. He can’t make false promises but he can give him that. 

Miranda sits silently in her seat and swirls her porridge around her bowl. Amos extends the same courtesy to her. She already survived her nightmares. He won’t make her relive them.

What he doesn’t take into account are his own.

“What the hell is that?”

He doesn’t stop pouring the last of the porridge, but the mood shifts, four sets of eyes zeroing in on the tv. He’d turned it on as a distraction, found one of those silly kids programs they were always advertising on Ceres. But the protomolecule has always had a mind of its own and it appears onscreen, rising from the depths of Venus in a billowing blue cloud.

The thermos clanks loudly when he puts it down. His hands shake too. He lays them flat on the table and takes deep breaths like the P & K shrink taught him. It hadn’t mattered that Minos stole from him – he couldn’t bash in another crew member’s face. He’d needed the work and made a choice. He’s done his best not to look back.

Some people think he’s crazy – a trigger-happy whackjob – but Naomi once called him the sanest man she knew. He knows what lives inside him. He knows better than picking a fight that isn’t earned.

This is his fight and there’s nothing that he can do. He stares into Ferdinand’s trembling face and all he sees is Julie Mao, pulsing blue sores and glimmering tentacles. He sees a monster where a little boy should be. Against the shattered glass of the tabletop, his hands ball into fists. 

Cool fingers rest on his forearm, small, slightly sticky fingers. He jerks in reaction. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him out of something that wasn’t fear. 

Ariel doesn’t pull away. “Are you scared?”

It takes him a moment to respond. Fear is a luxury he’s never been able to afford. He knows to keep his head up, his eyes open. He never tries to think more than three moves ahead. He always has an exit strategy. He doesn’t let whatever is happening to his heart get into his head.

Io is different – the protomolecule made it different – and there’s no stopping it. He wants to hide in the forgiving darkness of the communal pantry but he’s no longer five-years-old. He can’t outrun something like this.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I am.”

“I’m scared too,” Miranda says and rests her hand atop Ariel’s.

Ferdinand leans into Amos’s side. “I don’t want to be like Katoa.”

Ariel watches him with her flinty, knowing eyes. “We won’t be if Amos can help it.”

She says it like a statement rather than a question but Amos can give her that. He can’t promise that they’ll come through this alive, but he can die trying. He can do his best to keep them safe.

“I got you,” he says. “I’ll fight for you.” They smile at him, three goofy smiles missing a few teeth. “Eat your food,” he says and shoves a spoon loaded with porridge into his mouth. He can’t remember smiling like that when he was their age. He can’t remember ever smiling like that and he’s not about to start now. 

The kids cluster around him as they eat their porridge. Ferdinand is practically in his lap and Miranda looks up every minute or so like she’s checking if he’s still there. Ariel’s gaze never leaves his face. 

Amos knows what they’re doing. It’s like when Naomi would invite him to join her for lunch on the Cant. She’d be surrounded by crewmembers that were otherwise afraid of him, but she’d ask all the same. He hadn’t understood then but he gets it now. She hadn’t wanted to him to be alone.

When he can’t fight it any longer, he ducks his head and tucks into his bowl to hide the smile that insists on breaking out across his face.

 

* * *

 

Miranda is the first. 

After dinner he shows them the head and finds some MCRN t-shirts for them to sleep in. He makes up the beds while they brush their teeth and tells Ferdinand to get into one, the girls into the other. The routine works well enough for him and he hopes it will work for them too.

“If you need anything, I’m the third cabin on the right.” He’s standing in the doorway, blocking most of the light filtering in from the hall. If he squinted he might see their faces, but as it is, he can barely make out the whites of their eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Ariel replies, speaking for all of them as she’s started to do.

Amos frowns. Miranda and Ferdinand have voices too and they should know how to use them. After he’d left Earth, it had taken a long time for him to find his own. He needs to talk with Ariel, but it’s late and he’s tired and it can wait, if only until the next morning.

He’s barely closed his eyes when the door creaks open and near silent feet pad across the floor. He opens one eye and finds Miranda standing there, holding her pillow in one hand and sucking her thumb on the other. She doesn’t say anything but he feels her watching him, debating her next move. He keeps himself still when she climbs in next to him, curling up under his right arm.

He could tell her to leave. He’s a grown man and she’s a little girl and they’re sharing a bed. He knows where this is supposed to lead. 

But he likes her there, a warm, quiet presence at his side. Just because it was his experience doesn’t mean it has to be hers. She’s here and she trusts him. He won’t betray that. 

Amos doesn’t question it when Ferdinand creeps in barely thirty minutes later and slips under his left arm, or when Ariel waits two full hours before sliding into scant space remaining in the bunk.

He wakes up with a sore neck and three small children sprawled around him. It’s not the worst night’s sleep he’s had.

 

* * *

 

Naomi is already awake when Amos pads into the galley to get breakfast together. 

Her hair is pulled back neatly and her jumpsuit is freshly pressed and she’s standing at the counter stirring something mealy and red. Irritation surges through him at the sight of her. He hates the distance between them, hates her a little for putting it there. 

He doesn’t have much to say to her, but it feels weird ignoring her entirely. He’s still the mechanic and she’s the engineer. They have to be able to communicate.

“Red kibble?” he asks as he reaches around her for a coffee mug.

She nods and mixes in a bit of pepper. “I figured I’d make breakfast.”

“I could have done that.” The irritation flares again. He doesn’t like her thinking he can’t manage the kids on his own.

“You had them all night long. Let the rest of us pitch in.”

The coffee drips behind them with a wet, sucking sound. It helps distract from the awkwardness filling the kitchen. He and Naomi never needed words to talk, but it’s been weeks since they said anything at all. He doesn’t even know how to look at her anymore.

“I’m leaving when we dock at Tycho,” she says suddenly. She’s clutching the bowl of kibble to her stomach, holding it so tight her dark skin bleaches white in spots. It’s the closest he’s seen her come to losing control.

“Naomi – ” he starts. He’s not sorry if he’s made her uncomfortable but it doesn’t mean she should leave either. 

She shakes her head. “I need to say this. I don’t know if you’ll forgive me but hopefully you’ll understand.” She sucks in a breath, blows it out. “I used to run with the OPA.” Amos nods. That’s old news. “What you don’t know is that I met someone. We had a child together.” Amos’s head snaps up. There are factions of the OPA that are worse than Black Sky. He hopes that isn’t where this story is going. “He was taken from me but he isn’t dead. He’s out there, Amos, somewhere in the Belt. I know I shouldn’t have lied, but – ” Her voice cracks and she jerks her gaze away. Tears, those are tears in Naomi Nagata’s eyes. It’s almost as shocking as what they found on Eros.

“You gave the protomolecule to Fred Johnson so the Belt would have a stake in the game.”

Her gaze is clear when she turns back to him. “I don’t regret what I did if it means saving his life.” 

Amos knows a little bit about saving lives. There are three of them asleep in his bunk. He didn’t do it alone, but the small part he played, it means something. The grownups play their games and the little ones get caught in the crossfire. He would know. He _does_ know and he wants more for them. He wants more for all of them.

Naomi stares at him, cool and collected, the bowl of kibble still in her arms. She waits for his judgment, whatever it is, prepares to accept the choice that he makes.

Choices. He’s made so few of them for himself, but that’s what this is: a choice. It’s not what Naomi would do or Holden would do, but what Amos would do. Should do. He has to make this call and then he has to live with it.

“I forgive you,” he says. Naomi exhales sharply, relief etched into the weary lines of her face. 

She puts down the bowl and takes a tentative step forward, then another, until she’s pressed up against his chest with her arms wrapped around him. 

Amos stiffens on instinct. It’s not that he doesn’t understand physical contact, but affection is still new. He thought he knew better than to let down his guard, but Naomi holds him and he doesn’t want to run. He hasn’t wanted to run in a long time. The Roci might have started as simple survival but it’s his life. A life he enjoys. He likes helping people. Maybe he always did. Maybe it was there all along but it took Io for him to truly see. 

If he lost this life, he’d miss it. He’d miss the way it makes him feel, the purpose it provides. He makes a promise he knows he can keep. This life – it’s the only one he’ll ever want.

Footsteps sound in the doorway. The children are standing there when Amos looks up, watching him and Naomi curiously. Ariel crosses her arms over her chest, her expression unreadable. 

At first, Amos thinks it’s jealousy. He knows jealousy. He knows what it means to be starved, inside and out, to cling tight to the tiniest of crumbs. But Ariel doesn’t look desperate. She looks sad. Afraid. It’s fear, Amos realizes. She thinks that since he has Naomi, he doesn’t need her anymore. 

She’s wrong. He needs them both and he doesn’t need to choose one over the other. Naomi is his friend but the children are his responsibility. So long as they’re on the Roci, in his home, he’ll watch out for them. He’ll keep them safe. He’ll fight for them the way no one ever fought for him.

“Come here,” he says. Ferdinand bolts forward with Miranda on his heels but Ariel is slower to join them. He gestures at her over Ferdinand’s head. The kid has it buried in Amos’s stomach, his skinny arm tight around his waist. Naomi yelps in surprise when Miranda barrels into her. Out of the corner of his eye, Amos watches her wrap her arms around the little girl. Her smile is a little teary but she doesn’t let Miranda go.

“Why are we hugging?” Ariel asks. Amos can’t blame her for being suspicious. He’s never done something like this before and he’s the one that started it.

He shrugs and gestures to her. “We’re still alive, right?”

Ariel watches him a few seconds longer before tentatively sliding an arm around his waist. It’s a few seconds longer before Amos risks pulling her closer, so she bumps against Ferdinand and they all shift a few steps in a tangled bunch of arms and legs.

“Are we interrupting?” Alex drawls from the doorway. Holden stands behind him, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. Amos doesn’t take it personally. He’s not sure what’s happening either. 

Naomi answers for him, like she would have on the Cant, like she did on the Roci before he realized that he needed to speak for himself. Amos doesn’t mind. It’s okay every now and then, for someone else to make the decisions for him. “We’re just saying good morning.”

Holden smiles and kisses her over Miranda’s head. “Good morning to you too.”

“Yuck,” Ferdinand says while Miranda watches a little dreamy-eyed. Amos thinks it’s a good thing. He’s glad one of them still sees the world as full of wonder.

“I’m with you, kid,” Alex says and puts the bowl of kibble in the microwave. Ferdinand and Ariel help him set the table while Holden pours the coffee and Miranda watches him with wide, moon eyes. Amos stands back with Ariel and wonders how this became his life.

When the food is ready, Miranda sits in Holden’s lap and Ferdinand presses into Amos’s side. Ariel sits straight and tall in her chair, keeping a close watch on the other two. Across the table, Naomi raises her mug in salute. 

She smiles.

Amos smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> After the most recent episode, I kept thinking about how Amos ended up with the kids and how he'd relate to them given recent events and his own troubled backstory. This is the result. Title courtesy of Radiohead. Enjoy.


End file.
